Not How it was Meant to be Played
by Mizu falls from Kumo
Summary: Of all things for the idiot to do, he…he…he was playing footsy, during a football game.


_Yeah, I managed to write a world cup one shot. Of course I had the whole thing planned out in my head, I just had to watch the game, which was awesome by the way. Of course, the site already as a few, and the art sites are flooding with them, I managed to right one._

_I don't own anything...no matter how hard I try._

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Arthur would have rather Alfred stay at home and bother him over the phone, than have the American come to his house, drag him to some random Pub that was showing the game and into some dark corner table. Alfred had that stupid smile he always had, the one he wore since the bloody revolution (yes, the boy managed to create a whole other smile). Still Alfred was his guest (not really…but it wasn't his home either), so Arthur dealt with the whole ordeal.

It wasn't long to the game, and of course, people had long since piled in. The Pub was littered with white and red. Alfred was the only one not sporting anything that was England related (expect Arthur that was). Arthur noticed the America jersey under his bombers, he growled. Yes, Alfred was really an idiot, at least he had the brains to find the darkest corner and sit snuggly within it. At least he wasn't completely shining American everywhere.

Arthur on the other hand was hardly any different from Alfred, seeing as how he had the English Jersey on. He wasn't planning on going out, so he wasn't as dressed up as he could have been. Granted no one gave him two looks, maybe lingered on Alfred a bit, but people drowned themselves in beer and the life of the party. Arthur followed in suit, ordering a pint for both of them.

"You sure as hell have a lot of nerve." Arthur observed when the waiter walked away, the blue eyes brightened.

"Hm…maybe, but I think it'll be funner." Alfred said with a wink. "'Sides, the only exciting reporters seem to be on the Spanish channel. ESPN wasn't so great."

Arthur rolled his eyes, "more fun, you git." He corrected as the waiter returned with their drinks. "So you know, if you win…I'm counting this as my side of the bet." Arthur said into his cup with a smile as he watched Alfred choke on his drink slightly. "Hey you dragged me here. _You _choose this pub, I don't want to hear it."

"You say that like your trying to make me get a head of myself." Alfred pouted childishly, taking a large gulp of his drink. Arthur wanted to swat him and tell he might be to far ahead to even notice. "May the best man win," he said, surfacing from his gulp with a wide smile on his face.

Arthur raised his cup with a smug look on his face (the smile he wore as an Empire, Alfred remembered it, he paled slightly). It wasn't long after that that the national anthems started playing. Everyone one was silent, maybe a few wasted people slurred out the words to themselves. Kick off came around, and well the idea of watching a good game of football over took just about everyone.

He, of course, was no different. America or not, he was watching the game like it was meant to be watched. Arthur suddenly felt something wonder up his leg, distracting him from the game. He turned to Alfred who was looking at him…or was he staring at some television behind him. Arthur turned slight, no television, Alfred was looking at him. The thing wandered up his leg again and he shot a glare at the American across from him.

Alfred's eyebrows narrowed with determination, and something was further up his leg. He just about snapped. Of all things for the idiot to do, he…he…he was play _footsy _, during a _football_ _game_.

Arthur quickly swatted his foot away by kicking him on the inside of the knee. A loud bump and a few looks from people close by, Alfred was at it again. Hardly two dissent minutes into the game and the boy was already aggravating him. Okay, fine, if Alfred wanted to play, Arthur would play back.

A minute or so of the messy game of footsy (messy on America's part, did that boy know how to use his feet?), Arthur managed to press his foot against the younger blonde's groin, pressing into it just so. The bar erupted into loud cheers, Arthur whipped around to one of the screens just in time to witness a replay of a perfectly executed goal by Steven Gerrand.

Green eyes fixed on America from the corner of his eye. "You git, you made me miss a perfectly good goal." He hissed as he turned to Alfred slowly, who seemed to slowly be getting over the fact that Arthur got him.

"Ah, you scored?" Alfred whined slightly looking up at the screen. "Well that sucks."

Arthur kicked him, with more force then necessary, but who cared any way. "Are you trying to make the whole bloody Pub know you aren't English?"

"Well half of them are probably already drunk…if their anything like you." Alfred said looking over the cheering crowed, and his foot started to wander up his leg again.

"Bloody hell!" Arthur said batting him away with his foot. "Let me watch the damn game." He hissed, finishing up his glass, and shutting a heated hate glare in the American's direction.

The foot wandered up his leg yet again. Alfred really knew how to push thing too far. It was bad enough the English nation had been ripped from his home and dragged here, but now the American Idiot was completely interrupting his time to watch the game. Arthur batted him away, and he was going to keep doing it till the American got the damn message.

No matter how many times Arthur batted him away; the American's foot kept wandering back up. It wasn't long till Arthur found himself trying to press the other's groin again. Maybe he would see his lost. The cheers, aggravated cries, and relieved sighs had become lost to Arthur, in fact the excitement of the football game and been turned into fury at the American.

A large chunk of time rolled by, and Alfred's foot got dangerously close to his groin. Arthur kicked one of the legs of the American's chair, only it wasn't enough. He pressed it just so, ever so teasing, and his face was clearly rubbing in the fact he finally got one on the smaller nation. The whole Pub seemed to release an aggravated "no," and Arthur whipped a look at the closest screen again.

Once again he saw the replay of a goal, an American's one. He watched as it helplessly bounced of Robert Green's hands, and trolled its way to the goal as Green attempted to stop it. Thanks to Dempsey, they were tied, 1:1.

It dawned on Arthur, that the teams were tied in the soccer match, but he had Alfred were also tied in their footsy match.

_"No,"_ Arthur hissed, turning to Alfred, like he had somehow planned the whole thing out.

"Oh, hey look at that I scored," Alfred said completely oblivious to the dark cloud of rage that was being emitted from the seat across from him. Arthur quickly darted at Alfred's legs with his foot, only to have Alfred ease is seat back just out of reach. "God, what's got you so eager?"

"You bloody scored." Arthur hissed, "Have you even noticed that you managed to…you know," he blushed and the American laughed, "at the same time America happened to score a goal."

"Really?" He dare questioned.

"Yes, so let me bloody score!" Arthur snapped lowly.

Alfred erupted into a laugh, before it all drained into a straight faced "no." The game of footsy continued till half time was called. Arthur ordered another round of drinks for the both of them, each were sucked down. Arthur downed his quickly, like it might make him forget the fact that their game was related to the football game.

"Yes, this is defiantly better then back home." Alfred said taking yet another large gulp of his drink. "You're so cute when you're angry."

"You got bloody lucky." Arthur snapped with a glare.

"With what?"

"Your bloody goal."

"Hey, I'm not the one who kicked the wrong leg of the chair."

"Stupid mistake."

"I don't think so."

"Git."

"You're just mad 'cause I managed to slip on by Green." Alfred said sticking his tongue out Arthur.

"You got lucky." Arthur stressed, "You're team is playing like shit."

"You're playing like shit."

"That makes no sense at all! This isn't your MLS, or whatever crap of a game you play back home. You got bloody lucky."

"Hey, you've only managed to get the ball in the goal once." Alfred said defensively, and Arthur raised an eyebrow. "My team is obviously doing something right."

"Key word being something," Arthur grumbled, and Alfred kicked him lightly and smiled.

"We'll see how the next have plays out."

The remainder of half time snailed by for Arthur. Members of the pub were slightly pissed the American's had managed to slip on goal in, but it was clear it was flat out luck. Alfred merely looked around from his spot like he knew more than they ever would. Eventually Alfred got the idea of switching seats, Arthur glared. He switched any way, if things continued the way they had been, it was only fair.

The second kick off came around and their kicking under the table resumed. It consisted of mostly the same things. Kicking, batter the other away, well everything but scoring it seemed. They were fiercer this time around, Arthur kicked Alfred's chair correctly when he needed to and Alfred was similar. Someone had turned to look at them, when Alfred kicked Arthur's chair a little too hard, they were luck the man was wasted.

It was long either before Alfred peeled Arthur's foot away with his hand, Arthur followed in suit, each time the other snapping a "Handball!" at each other with a volume only they heard.

They were reckless and Arthur was frustrated, but Alfred's feet seem to develop some skill….and it was getting to him. Probably more they he should have let it, but there was always a competitive air between the two and if Alfred knew how to work it correctly it got to them both. This was no different.

Eventually the half ended, the game was over. It was a tie. Alfred had a smug look on his face, before it drained into confusion. Arthur growled frustrated, both with the fact that they had tied, but with the fact that Alfred had managed to make…well hard. Of course he figured Alfred was the same, he was always two steps ahead of the Englishman, no doubt he had been turned on at the first goal.

"We tied," Alfred pouted falling back in his chair. "Damn, no one planned for that in the bet."

"We'll work something out." Arthur said falling somewhat defeated on the table, and looking at his empty glasses of beer. "Not now though."

Alfred watched him with shining blue eyes. "We should go to McDonald's and I'll pay for your order and you pay for mine." Arthur turned to him with a bored looked and the American pouted. "Come on Artie, that's fair."

"The way you eat, I'm getting the short end of the stick." Arthur said straightening up. "Let's got back to my house and work it out tomorrow." Alfred beamed, bounding up from his seat, with a smile that told Arthur what he was thinking. "You have no patience, do you?"

"Some, other wise I'd probably be doing you in the bathroom right now." Alfred said watching as Arthur placed some money on the table and got up, only to be ripped out the door.

Rolling his eyes, Arthur knew it was going to be a long recovery…for both him and Green. In two different ways of course.

* * *

_Okay before any one complains or anything. I'm not dissing on the Spanish channel, I'm dissing on ESPN. I'm half Hispanic, me and my mom watched the first game on ESPN and it sucked. My dad called us to talk about the game and asked why in the world we weren't watching it in Spanish, no we have every single game. So no offense to anyone who speaks Spanish or watches the Spanish channels, I'm praising that...other than that...I'm not sure._

_Oh always, I'm America, and have never been to England, so I have no clue what a Pub would be like during a game...so sorry if I failed._

_Other than that, I could see the whole game being a giant game of footsy between America and England. XD _

_Please RxR  
_


End file.
